


had i no eyes but ears, my ears would love

by nockingarrows



Category: (여자)아이들 | (G)I-DLE, K-pop, Pentagon (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Explicit Language, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Social Anxiety, Talking, but producer/singer hui, hires shinwon to accompany him to an event, i dont actually know what this is honestly, shenanigans ensue, sooshu are mostly there as a foil for hui/shinwon but theyre still cute so the tag is there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29081382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nockingarrows/pseuds/nockingarrows
Summary: “I did hear that you were starting to see someone, kid. The media are already clamoring about it. Bringing her out in this big of a moment will be great for both of you.”Hwitaek could barely breathe, trying to squeeze out the words no, no, that’s not what I meant at all, but the CEO was already ushering him out the door. He tried to grab the doorknob, stop the tide, but his finger just barely grazed the metal. He lurched forward from the CEO thumping his shoulder so hard he felt as if he might lose his lunch.“I look forward to seeing you both there.”[OR: hui is forced to bring a hired plus-one (shinwon) to a party, and may or may not fall in love with him. it's dramatique]
Relationships: Ko Shinwon/Lee Hwitaek | Hui, Past Seo Soojin / Hui, Seo Soojin/Yeh Shuhua
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	had i no eyes but ears, my ears would love

**Author's Note:**

> started this when i was in a bad mood and just wanted to Write. then i got too invested for my own good and as usual the thing got way too long lmao i hope anyone who reads it enjoys :D
> 
> title is from Shakespeare's Venus and Adonis
> 
> kudos and comments appreciated as always <3

Lee Hwitaek was in it for the music. He put up with everything, from the car rides to the late nights to the early mornings to the ever-changing studios, for the accomplishment. At the end of his project he would sit, haloed by the constant spin of the ceiling fan, listen to his own music, and feel peace. 

Reality, though, had a way of always disappointing. Hwitaek leaned back in his chair as his own voice sailed through his ears. The roar of the electronic beat he had created sounded easy, smooth, as if it hadn’t all been a labor of love. Or at least, a labor of...something. He felt pride, certainly. Peace, though, eluded him. His soul felt too big for his skin; he was suddenly sure he was about to burst from it. 

A part of him whispered that the reason he’d dove headfirst into this project with such vigor was that he had not been diving in at all. Perhaps he had been fleeing. Perhaps, even, he had been—or no. He _was still_ drowning. So far underwater, problems he couldn’t hear became problems he didn’t have to deal with. 

_“It’ll be a celebration like none you’ve ever witnessed.”_

He turned the volume up. Unease crept into his ears anyway, a reminder that the comfortable studio where he spent most of his days wasn’t the only part of this world he’d chosen. 

_“Sir—I’m not sure if—”_

_“Your song just reached number one on the charts, kid. Not just that—it’s gone global. Radios all over the world are playing it. Every award show is asking for you. This is your moment! We’re giving you a chance to take this opportunity by its reins and make it yours.”_

_“I just wanted to make a good song.”_

_“And you_ have _. But you can’t always guarantee that people will be listening. We have to strike the iron while it’s hot! A grand occasion like this one, with a list of names like the ones we’ve managed to get, will skyrocket you to true fame.”_

_“I—” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, pebbles caught in an anxious current. “Can’t I at least bring someone with me?”_

He should have known the way it would be interpreted, but his hands were shaking. He should have guessed. What he should have done, really, was just keep his damned mouth shut. 

_“I did hear that you were starting to see someone, kid. The media are already clamoring about it. Bringing her out in this big of a moment will be great for both of you.”_

_Hwitaek could barely breathe, trying to squeeze out the words_ no, no, that’s not what I meant at all _, but the CEO was already ushering him out the door. He tried to grab the doorknob, stop the tide, but his finger just barely grazed the metal. He lurched forward from the CEO thumping his shoulder so hard he felt as if he might lose his lunch._

_“I look forward to seeing you both there.”_

The door creaked, and Hwitaek blinked with it. It hadn’t creaked like that in his memory; the CEO’s door sliding shut in his face in dead silence had been the final nail in his metaphorical coffin. Its glass mocked him; he could see the back of the CEO in perfect view, but didn’t have the guts to do anything about it. 

The out-of-place creaking was finally too much, and Hwitaek looked up to finally see his visitor make herself at home amidst the jackets on his couch. 

Seo Soojin, seventh to join his company’s dance group DCX, dipped her head at him by way of greeting. She had clearly just been practicing, her dark hair still pulled up into a lopsided, messy bun. Several strands had fallen out and hung slightly curled in stark contrast to her loose white top and even looser joggers. The two drawstrings at her waist mirrored her hair, except in white. 

Messy as she was, she was still beautiful, though in the way a china doll might be: a reminder that her pieces could split skin if she shattered. Hwitaek fought back a sigh. 

“You’ve heard, hm?” he said instead. 

“Hard not to. This company is only so big,” Soojin answered. She turned to absentmindedly fold his haphazardly strewn jackets. “So?”

“So?” Hwitaek repeated. It was less that he wasn’t following, and more that he just didn’t want the conversation to continue. 

Soojin, however, was one of the few people who wouldn’t stop pressing. She blinked at him in her owlish way, calm and insistent. Letting the silence drag on, knowing, as she always did, what would come. 

“It’s not going to be you,” he eventually caved. 

“Why not?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Would you want it to be?”

“I would if you asked me. There would have been a time when I was happy to oblige.”

“What about Shuhua?”

Soojin was very good at looking unfazed, but for a moment, her round eyes widened in surprise. Her ears, which just barely peeked out under her steadily falling bun, were tinged just barely red, if only for a second. If Hwitaek hadn’t known her like the back of his hand, he would have missed it. 

“Shuhua and I are...not official yet.”

 _Neither were we._ They had sat together curled up on a couch much like the one she sat on. He had gently pulled her against him. A hug, and then more. The soft burst of warmth, the feeling of her smiling openly against his collarbone and then higher and higher, kissing her way up to his words, silencing them. Action told the story far better than they could. 

That had been years ago—was it two now, already?—but that didn’t mean the memories had faded. Soojin was one of those women whom everyone looked at, but no one ever saw. It had once been the pride of his life to know her, validation for his hand in hers. Now, it was a weathered but well-loved book in the series of both of their lives. 

“So you’re not with her out of your own volition? Or because...” Hwitaek gestured at himself. 

Soojin frowned. “Your narcissist act still isn’t funny.”

“What if it isn’t an act?”

“You and I aren’t a thing anymore.” She adjusted her bun; it was no longer nearly as lopsided. “I have no qualms about kicking you very lightly, just for educational purposes. Shuhua thinks it shouldn’t even be light. According to her, you’d be too dense to feel it.”

Hwitaek liked Yeh Shuhua, and had the instant he’d met her. She had a youthful, mischievous sort of joy to her and made giddy ever-children out of everyone who met her—even Soojin. It was strange, but fitting that when he and Soojin had been...whatever they were...both had been trying so hard to seem older, wiser, better than they were, and now the woman she was chasing dripped pixie dust. 

“I hate that kid.”

“You don’t,” Soojin said fondly. Her smile became a little sad. “Or you would ask me to come to your party. Which you could still do, if you wanted.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you. And besides, it’s not my party.” Hwitaek had steeped in his bitterness long enough that it trailed his words like steam. “If it were up to me, it wouldn’t be happening. There’s no need to celebrate this...at least not this way. Like I’m trying to capitalize on it. Which I will be. It won’t matter what my intentions were or how I feel about it.”

“Then don’t go,” said Soojin. She shrugged when Hwitaek gaped at her. “The company can celebrate just as well without you. It’s their success too, from the marketing side of things. Just say you’re sick.”

“I can’t.”

“You won’t,” Soojin corrected him. 

“He took a chance on me. The CEO did, I mean. The label. All of them. I’m a new singer, barely written a real song that wasn’t just a one-timer I uploaded and forgot about. This whole thing is a once-in-a-lifetime event. I can’t just...not go.”

“Then what will you do?”

“Find someone else to bring, I suppose.” His laugh came out as a huff of miserable resignation. “Maybe I’ll call my mom and she can send me a blind date.”

“Taek-oppa. Stop.”

“What?”

“You’re spiraling.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. Do you want me to kiss your forehead like I used to?”

Hwitaek’s laugh was almost a wheeze. “Do _you_ want to?”

“Absolutely not.” Soojin’s eyes glittered. “But see, I made you laugh. And I also have an idea. You need someone to come along to your party, right? And it won’t be me. It’ll have to be someone who can charm a crowd so you can slink around in peace.”

“Yes. Are you going to dial up God?”

“Close. A god of connections, if you will.” She finished up whatever she was typing and held out her phone. “Here’s his number. He’ll have just the right person for the job. I’m convinced he knows half the continent.”

\--

“Hello. You’re Lee Hwitaek, right?”

He was, but in that instant, he really didn’t want to be. He stood in the doorway of his apartment, so still that breathing almost felt like betrayal, his hand braced against the door that _he’d opened_ before he had any idea what kind of person stood beyond it. He regretted everything. He shouldn’t have called...but the celebration was in a little less than half an hour. 

_“Oh, Soojin-ie told you to call me? I thought you guys weren’t together anymore?”_

_“We weren’t ever_ together _, really.”_

_“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet, my friend,” Kang Hyunggu, the fourth member of DCX, laughed over the speakerphone. The sound crackled like Hwitaek’s frayed nerves._

_“So do you have someone in mind?”_

_“Sure, long as you pay him.”_

_“Of course,” Hwitaek said hurriedly. He’d waited far too long to make the call, pacing on bare feet across icy bathroom tiles. Outside, the moon was already bathing the world in soft grey tones. “Anything. Any rate.”_

He was so _fucking_ stupid. Kang Hyunggu had a good heart. He was Soojin’s friend, after all. He wouldn’t have sent Hwitaek just anyone. He knew Hwitaek was looking for someone who could truly act the part he was selling, someone his CEO would see and believe was an understandable match, someone who would be a _good marketing move._

He understood the decision. Nevertheless, he felt tiny and terribly, damningly ordinary standing in his doorway in front of the most beautiful man he’d ever seen in his life. 

Hwitaek was in the music industry; he’d seen his fair share of beautiful people. Hell, he’d half-almost-dated Seo Soojin. He was a coward, sure, but he wasn’t one to be cowed by good looks. He considered himself fairly decent; he at least knew how to tie a tie and tailor his own suits so that the pants weren’t too long. But now...here...in front of this tall, auburn-haired man with eyes that were almost amber and who was wearing a pressed forest-green suit fit for the gods, he could only think _fuck,_ _how am I going to this party with an Adonis?_

“If this is the wrong door…” 

“How should I pay you?” Hwitaek asked weakly. 

“Oh,” said the Adonis. He reached up to run his fingers through his hair. Hwitaek wanted to scream. Or melt into the floor. Preferably both at the same time. This was a disaster. Even this man’s _wrist_ was beautiful. How was that even possible?

“Just wiring it is fine.”

“Alright,” Hwitaek whispered as if any little sound he made might kill him. 

He didn’t know why he was this flustered. In the past, there had been plenty of men who had caught his eye, but none of them had ever made him feel quite this...small. Then again, Hwitaek was fairly certain that even Adonis himself would have stepped aside for this one. The thought had barely formed in his head before he mentally berated himself. He had to focus. 

“So, when do we head out?” asked the Adonis, casually, as if it were just another Wednesday night. “Hyunggu texted me the venue—seems a good way out.”

“My manager will come here to get us.”

“Your—ah, right. That makes sense.” The man’s smile made Hwitaek want to explode into a thousand butterflies or punch him in the face. Then patch up his wounds and tell him he was sorry. Something like that. He really...he wasn’t allowed to think anymore. 

“You.” He gestured at the man on his doorstep, trying to sound authoritative. At least to his ears, it was a failed attempt. “Come in. Manager will be a bit, knowing his speed.”

\--

The Adonis’ name was Ko Shinwon. He was 25, which meant that he should have called Hwitaek “hyung.” But he wasn’t calling him anything, because the two of them didn’t say another word to one another until Hwitaek’s manager arrived. 

At least he was on time. Hwitaek couldn’t have been more thankful. He hadn’t been sure what to do with the most beautiful man on the planet sitting on _his_ kitchen chair with his long legs stretched out across _his_ apartment’s carpet, sipping sink water (it was clean, he promised) from one of _his_ hastily washed cups. The whole picture was surreal. When his manager entered the picture, though, it was easy to slip back into the routine of his normal schedules, only with an extra visitor in tow. 

A beautiful visitor, but a visitor nonetheless. 

In the car, Hwitaek was finally able to ease himself into a sense of false calm. He was headed for an ordinary night. The roar in his bones and the way his head bounced with the bumps in the road as he leaned against the tinted window was familiar, comforting. He was just about to drift off to sleep when Ko Shinwon reached out a hand and wrapped his larger hand around Hwitaek’s upturned one. 

“What—” Hwitaek’s startled voice was a little too loud, and his manager glanced back at him. Shinwon’s hand didn’t move, and after another second, Hwitaek continued under his breath, “That really isn’t necessary here.”

Shinwon blinked. The passing street lights sent shocks of light across his face, darkening and lightening him in stop-motion beauty. “Why not? Isn’t he the best one to know, if you’re convincing your CEO?”

Hwitaek fought back a wave of expletives, and then sighed. 

“Am I wrong?”

“No.” 

He looked down at Shinwon’s fingers, just barely intertwined with his. Slowly, he closed the gaps until he was tightly squeezing his hand. Shinwon stared straight forward, but Hwitaek could tell with half-irritation and half-resignation that the corners of his stand-in partner’s mouth were perking up. 

“You’re laughing at me.”

“You’re shaking,” Shinwon pointed out. “Are you nervous?”

“I’m a hermit in love with my studio, and my song has just hit number one. Now I’m being asked to attend a party of celebrities to spread my name and bring eyes to my company when really, I’d rather just be at home with a nice wine. So what do you think?” 

“You’re nervous.”

“Fuck no, I’m not nervous,” Hwitaek snapped, and Shinwon laughed so loud the manager turned to look at them again, though this time with a sort of pointed smirk that Hwitaek resented. It wasn’t long before he found himself smiling a little, though, just out of the infectiousness of Shinwon’s amusement. 

“Don’t be nervous,” Shinwon said when they finally reached the venue. The flashing lights of the cameras were visible even from inside the car, and Hwitaek was already feeling sick to his stomach. He unconsciously leaned in a little closer to Shinwon, both to hear his voice and also just to be near him. A confident, magnificent presence. In this place, that was power. 

“Why not?” he whispered back, parroting what Shinwon had said earlier. The latter’s smile widened. 

“I’ll deal with it. Isn’t that what you paid me for?”

\--

Ko Shinwon was, to absolutely no one’s surprise, an excellent hire. Hwitaek hadn’t had his doubts before, given that his recommender had been _Kang Hyunggu_ , but skill was impressive and worth applause regardless of what forced its hand. 

The feeling started as warmth in his belly when Shinwon helped him out of the car, his arm a protective shield from the crazed sea of cameras and noise. Hwitaek noted with some amusement that the shouts were never his name, just a chorus of _heres_ and _this ways_. It wasn’t Lee Hwitaek who was famous as much as it was the song that he wrote. Most people didn’t even know it was him who sang it—couldn’t ascribe his voice to his face. 

He didn’t belong. The realization sank into his legs, nearly freezing him to the ground, but then Shinwon’s warmth melted the ice and brought him through the door, away from the cameras. His breath came out short and shallow; he barely heard Shinwon whisper in his ear as he made a show of sweeping him across the room, graceful but firm. 

“Stay close. I’ll hold you steady. Just remember to nod when I look at you.”

Hwitaek tried to make a sound of acquiescence, but it came out as something between a wheeze and a grunt. He hated crowds. Hated them. Hated the oversaturation of sound, overly many arms bumping against him, the overlap of airy apologies and unabashed laughter. He wanted to curl up into a ball and fade into thin air, become dust, burn to a crisp. 

He just might have, but Shinwon was...something. The man became someone else the instant he met eyes with anyone in the crowd. The first time he did it—introducing Hwitaek as _his boyfriend, yes, he’s sweet but a little shy_ and then smiling as he seamlessly guided the conversation to _this venue, wow, I would’ve thought I was dreaming if I hadn’t taken a sip of that delightful rosewater. No, I’m really not kidding! So, where are you from?—_ Hwitaek had just startled and stared. He hadn’t thought it was possible to make things this easy. 

The warmth in his gut started to curdle, to sour. He smiled when Shinwon glanced at him, nodded when he was needed. He walked like there were rocks attached to his nice shoes, the shoes that were probably more expensive than Shinwon’s shiny slacks but looked nowhere near as fancy. Shinwon wrapped his arm around Hwitaek’s shoulder, beaming— _this is our local talent! Yeah, I know, unassuming, right? But if only you knew._

But he, too, knew nothing. The warmth in Hwitaek’s gut had gone. The sourness had risen into his throat; he tasted bile. He wanted to curse, not at Shinwon but _about_ him: this perfect man who had transformed this side of Hwitaek’s life, a side that terrified him more than he would ever admit, into a simple task. Walking through this crowd of strangers, weaving friendship among people Hwitaek saw often but had never had the guts to speak to. Even though that should have been part of Hwitaek’s job. 

_“You know, people think you’re cold when they first meet you.” Soojin smiled over their shared tteokbokki. She peeled the melted cheese off and held it out to him with her fork—his favorite part._

_“Did you?”_

_“Even I wasn’t immune,” she laughed, tapping his nose with the back of her fork. “But it’s alright. I know you now.”_

Hwitaek was suddenly glad to flee from Shinwon to stand beside the CEO, staring at the wooden stage below him as hundreds of celebrity eyes stared at him. The CEO’s words, he knew, were flattering, painting him as some bigshot who had finally had his big break in the industry. They were nice words. He didn’t care. The silence between the CEO’s words were too loud and Hwitaek was about to burst from the sick, irrational anger in his chest over the man he’d brought with him. 

When the speech was done, he still went back to Shinwon. He resented that even more, that the most comforting presence in the room was also the most damning. Everything Shinwon did proved that Hwitaek just wasn’t enough. If anyone should have been famous, it should have been Shinwon. Hwitaek had never cared for fame anyway; he was in it for the music. 

“Are you alright?” Shinwon murmured after several more guests. 

“I’m fine.”

“I know this is exhausting. Maybe we should find—”

“This job should be yours,” Hwitaek burst out, blood rushing to his face. He was sick of it. “I can’t deal with any of this shit. I—”

“Hyung.” Shinwon’s perfect brows knit in concern, which just made Hwitaek more furious. He didn’t care that it was the first time Shinwon had actually called him “hyung.” Rationally, he knew that the man he’d hired was only doing his job, but Hwitaek’s ears were ringing with the sound of high-pitched laughter and clicking heels and clinking glasses and he wanted to tear his hair out. Or kick something. Maybe both. 

“I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Oh, you should have just said.” Shinwon’s shoulders relaxed, as if that solved the problem entirely, and Hwitaek couldn’t take it anymore. He turned and pushed through the crowd, pushed and pushed until it didn’t sound as if anyone was calling his name anymore. He did eventually find the bathroom, but had no desire to actually go inside and see if anyone had gotten drunk on party champagne. He ducked behind it, hurried down the hallway, and finally knelt down in an empty alcove and dropped his head into his hands. 

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself, and then again, for good measure, when he began to process what had happened. He already felt cold and lonely without Ko Shinwon, which enraged him so much he didn’t even know what to do with himself. He leaned his head against the back of the alcove and tried not to cry. 

He was in it for the music. Everything else wasn’t supposed to matter.

 _Oh, so you’re not allowed to feel anymore?_ chuckled the Soojin in his mind. _How will you write a good song then?_

She kept whispering, laughing at him, even when he finally summoned the courage to walk back into the party. To find Shinwon. To tell him _I’m okay, don’t mind me._ To hold his arm as he walked among the party guests, playing God. To then, finally, _finally_ , make it back to his manager’s car and then home. 

“That wasn’t too bad, I hope,” Ko Shinwon said to him. In a moment of deja vu, he was back in Hwitaek’s doorway, standing there looking like a man delicately plucked from a master painting. 

Hwitaek hated him, but said nothing. 

“Anyways, it was nice meeting you. I’m glad we could get to know each other while being fake boyfriends for a night.” Shinwon’s smile was bright, innocent of any wrongdoing. 

Hwitaek still said nothing. 

“Hyung?”

“Goodnight, Shinwon. You should see the money in your account tomorrow morning.”

“O-oh.” Shinwon’s smile faltered, and as he studied Hwitaek’s stony face a little longer, faded. “Alright. I look forward to it.”

He turned to leave. Hwitaek watched him go, trying to gauge the jumbled emotions in his head, the tight feeling in his chest. He couldn’t read himself. He hated that, too. 

“Drive safely,” he said, probably too quiet for Shinwon to hear. Then he closed the door.

\--

“So, how did the party go?”

“Wonderfully.”

“Ah, that bad.” Soojin was taking up the entire couch lying on her belly, resting her chin on folded arms, legs kicking the air. Hwitaek’s studio smelled like her floral perfume. He felt that she wasn’t taking his moment of crisis as seriously as she should have been, but then again, she was no longer half-dating him. 

“Anything else you wanted to ask?”

“Hm. How was Hyunggu’s pick for you?”

“Very good at his job.”

“You don’t sound particularly happy about it.”

“Try being accompanied by _a literal Adonis_ for an entire night,” Hwitaek grumbled. “Really does wonders for a man with a healthy amount of pride.”

“I’m going to ignore that.”

“You acknowledged it already. And besides, I have a right. Kang Hyunggu sent me the perfect man to ruin my night.”

“I thought you said he was good?”

“Too good. Ever gone on a date night with a magazine model? Do you know what that does to a man’s sense of self worth?”

“You mean your fragile male ego?” Soojin laughed. “It sounds to me like you’re just angry that you can’t have him for real, and not just for a fake date.”

“Is that Shuhua talking?”

Soojin shrugged. “She makes me a practical woman.”

“So...you two are together officially now?”

“Are you going to ask me some variation of this question every time you see me?”

“Until you give me a direct answer.”

“Well then, yes. She asked me a few days ago, before you went to your party.” 

Hwitaek blinked at her. She had adjusted her position so she was now sitting facing him, dressed for the cloud cover outside: her loose dark hair pooling over a light blue sweater, grey skirt, fleece tights. She should have been magnificent, more than anything Hwitaek had ever seen, and he should have been angry the way he had been when they’d first decided to call it off, but his brain was...straying. He made a frustrated noise under his breath and then stifled it, but it was too late. 

“What?” asked Soojin. Her normally stoic expression twisted just enough that he noticed it. “Don’t tell me you still feel it.”

“No, it’s not that.”

She watched him, waiting. 

“But..” Hwitaek shrugged, helpless. “I was thinking.”

“About?”

“Were we…” He took a breath, forced the words out. They sounded desperate even to him. “Were we in love? Were we even close?”

“I don’t know. Does it matter anymore?”

Hwitaek pursed his lips. “No.”

“Taek-oppa. Is this about something?” She frowned, squinting. “It’s Hyunggu’s boy, isn’t it? If he hurt you, you can tell me.”

“No! No. He was perfect.”

“Well then, I don’t see the problem.” Soojin flopped back onto her belly again. “If you like him, get Hyunggu to call him and bring him right back to your door. You might have to pay him again, but could be worth a try. Or if you’re really not into perfect cookie-cutter men, you could always just ask Hyunggu to set you up with another one. Problem solved, voilá.”

“Voilá,” Hwitaek repeated, the sick feeling from the party back in his gut. As if any of _that_ would solve anything. 

\-- 

To his credit, Hwitaek did try to call. Kang Hyunggu’s voice was chipper over the phone: _oh, sure, I can ask him. I’ll call you back._ Several hours later, a dead end. _He didn’t pick up. Not sure where he ran off to, but I left him a message. Here’s his number, though, if you want to call him yourself._ Another dead end, then, because the ball was now in Hwitaek’s court and he already knew that he didn’t have the balls to call. What was he supposed to do, confess to the most beautiful man in the world after snubbing him at his doorstep? _Sorry,_ _please come back, I_ _possibly_ _probably like you. A little bit. Not in a creepy way, I promise. We don’t even have to do anything. I just...don’t have many friends, just my kind-of ex and her girlfriend. Your company was nice. You—_

He could only imagine how that would go. It would have been a lie to say that Hwitaek didn’t torture himself over it for a while though, staring at the phone in his hand, the number Hyunggu had given him already dialed. Each time he was so close, but then he remembered Ko Shinwon’s face shifting into indifference in his doorway, and couldn’t go through with it. 

A call wasn’t going to change anything; it would just go straight to voicemail. He was just being rational. 

It was an excuse he kept telling himself as the days passed, rolling into each other until time became a familiar, muddy fog. Back to normal, he supposed. This was where he belonged: in his studio, traveling to other studios, dropping by the DCX training rooms. They were working with some of the demos he’d made, and he was often requested to sit in and make adjustments or suggestions. After work, Shuhua would knee him in the side so hard he thought he might throw up and then she and her girlfriend would take him to Shuhua’s apartment where Soojin would make carbonara and grill him on his questionable progress as a functional human. 

“You can’t still be hung up on that man from the party, are you? It’s been weeks.”

“So it has,” Hwitaek mused. He was happy to take up space on Soojin’s couch, for once; his feet dangled over the end of it in a joyous reminder that to some people he was tall. Not quite as tall as Shinwon, though, especially with his hair styled up the way it had been that night. 

He shook that particular memory out of his head. 

“You’re not subtle,” Shuhua huffed with her arms crossed, perched on her dining table. Soojin kept poking the small of her back with the back of her spoon as she cooked, but Shuhua refused to slide down. Soojin also didn’t seem to be trying too hard, a soft smile on her lips. 

She looked happy. Hwitaek searched for words to explain how he felt about it all. He wasn’t in love with her. There might have been a time when he was, but not anymore. He knew that. Time, as inconsistent as it felt, had proven to him that he was far happier seeing Soojin with Shuhua than he had ever been with her. 

There was, however, still a gnawing emptiness in his chest when he looked at them. Shuhua shot an amused smile at Soojin, which the latter returned with a wink, and Hwitaek realized what the feeling was: he was jealous of both of them. He was angry that he seemed not to have had this in the first place, no matter how hard he and Soojin had tried to make it work, and that it had somehow taken meeting the perfect man that he could never have to make him see the difference. 

“I’m not trying to be subtle,” he told Shuhua, just to get out of his own head. 

She dragged him back in. “Then you’re stupid. Call him yourself. If he doesn’t pick up, then at least you tried.”

“What good would that do?”

Shuhua shrugged. “Peace of mind. Faster and easier to just call and find out than wait for him to do it.”

“Not everyone is as bold as you are.”

“Pity.”

“Just my luck to date two narcissist-wannabes,” Soojin grumbled. “When will this ever end?”

Shuhua puffed up like she’d never heard something more offensive in her life. “Break up with me, then!!” 

Soojin glared at her, indicating with raised eyebrows that she would absolutely throw her pot of sauce across the room at her. Shuhua immediately switched tactics, cooing that _her pretty girlfriend wouldn’t dare_ , sidling up behind her and planting a loud kiss on her cheek. Hwitaek watched them for a moment, unconsciously picturing himself in the same space. 

The Shinwon in his head leaned over him with those bright, warm eyes of his, ready to plant a light kiss—Hwitaek shooed the image away from himself and pulled out his phone to scroll. A text message from Hyunggu caught his attention briefly, but it was just _sorry hyung, tried a second time just to see. missed him again._

It soured his mood more than it should have. He curled up around his legs. 

“I’m going for a drive.”

“Now?” demanded Shuhua. Soojin made a small sound of protest as her girlfriend stopped back-hugging her so that she could lecture Hwitaek. “You’re going to miss Soojin’s dinner?”

“I’ve had Soojin’s carbonara plenty of times.”

“Unfair.” Shuhua pouted. “You weren’t even her boyfriend.”

“You’ve been her girlfriend for two weeks.”

“Two and a _half_!” Shuhua shouted. 

“Same thing!” Hwitaek shouted back, to which Shuhua promptly screamed something unintelligible. This usually went on for some time, but today Hwitaek’s phone buzzed again, distracting him entirely. Hyunggu’s name shot hope through his chest as he looked, but the message killed it immediately. 

_he was active like 10 min ago so it shouldn’t be too long!_

“I knew it. He’s avoiding me.”

“Huh?” said Shuhua, blinking. 

Hwitaek just grabbed his keys, swinging his jacket over his shoulder and grabbing his umbrella from where it sat by Shuhua’s messy shoe rack. “I’m sorry. Gotta clear my head.”

“But—” 

“Stay safe out there,” Soojin called to him. “Rain’s supposed to get worse in the next hour.”

“I will,” said Hwitaek. He glanced at Shuhua, who quickly adjusted her expression so that she was pouting like a child. Hwitaek hadn’t missed the real concern in her eyes, though, and smiled at it. “Thanks, both of you.”

\--

Hwitaek wasn’t a careless driver, but emotions made him drive _fast_. The first stretch of his drive felt like a scene from a movie: just hitting the gas, speeding through pelting sheets of rain, blasting music so loud the cars beside him could probably hear it. Getting on the freeway only made it easier to just drive, straight into wherever-was-far-away. He just followed the road until finally, his heart rate had calmed down and he was starting to feel like he may have overdone it. 

His tires screeched a little—he was still going over the speed limit—as he took a random exit. He swung the car under a bridge, and then started down a much smaller one-lane highway. He had no idea where he was; he’d left his phone navigating home. It had been rerouting for most of the trip. 

He drove until the one lane turned to two, and then back to one again, after which it led him into a forested area with a dirt road that had become a near mud-sludge from the rain. He briefly thanked his luck that he’d driven the big all-wheel-drive with its full tank of gas, and then kept his eyes on his phone, which was still _rerouting...rerouting.._.it would probably be some time before he had service again. He pursed his lips and returned his eyes to the road just in time to spot some movement on the passenger side. 

Slowing down, he stared in dumb surprise at a man in a too-large hoodie dragging his bike through the sludge. All things considered, he was making some progress, but his boots and the wheels of the bike both seemed to be submerging more the farther he traveled. 

Hwitaek’s first instinct was to keep driving and leave the poor man alone. He was probably embarrassed enough as it was, and there was probably a reason why he was out here in the first place. Hwitaek hated to intrude. But then he remembered Soojin’s warning about the rain worsening, and the way his windshield wipers were furiously whipping back and forth only proved her point. If this was only the beginning, he couldn’t imagine what _worse_ meant, especially for this man without an umbrella, slogging through mud in an area with no service. 

He stopped the car. The road was empty, with only his headlights shining lonely streaks of yellow light into the fog. He switched into reverse until he’d caught up with the biker, and then rolled down the window just enough that the rain wouldn’t come through but his voice would carry.

“Need a ride?”

“I’m good—thanks!”

“Are you sure? My friend told me the rain is only going to get worse.” 

The man stopped tugging on his bike and lifted his head to look at Hwitaek. He’d tightened the drawstring on his hood so that his face was mostly unseen, but his lips pursed into a frown.

“My bike won’t fit back there.”

“It will,” Hwitaek said firmly. “I took out the chairs. We use this car to move...stuff.” Musical equipment, often the hugely impractical speakers that the DCX kids used when they practiced. 

“I don’t want to be any trouble…” the man continued. He said something else, but the wind picked up and swallowed his words, also pelting a face full of rain into the opening under his hood. He spluttered, trying to wipe his face with his sleeve before realizing that it too was soaked. 

“Everything will fit,” Hwitaek assured him, and finally, the man relented and turned his bike toward the car. Hwitaek opened the trunk, yelled that the man could move whatever he needed, and then listened until the thunk of the bike falling onto its side in the back indicated that the biker didn’t need help. He waited a few seconds longer, and then the soaked man crawled into the passenger seat and dropped his forehead against the glove compartment, heaving deep breaths. 

“Thanks for saving my ass. Was headed to a job across town and thought I’d take a shortcut through this area. Worked great this morning, but coming back I sort of got stuck.”

“That’s alright,” Hwitaek said as he kicked the car back into gear. It protested a little at the mud, but Hwitaek had paid for its all-wheel-drive for a reason, and before long they—and the car’s heater, thankfully—were back on track. “Happens to everyone.”

He went back to focusing on driving, checking his phone for the telltale sign of service returning. If he had been paying attention to the man in his passenger seat, though, he might have noticed the man lift his head from the glove compartment, turn, and almost try to scrabble his way back out of the car. He would have seen the way he finally gave up, slumping against the door and staring out into the pouring rain and violent wind. 

He didn’t though. All he heard was a quiet, “I’m sorry. Do you want to drop me off here?”

Hwitaek did turn then, and looked directly into the eyes of a rain-soaked Ko Shinwon. His own eyes widened and he stopped the car again. It was a good thing that there was no one else on this lonely road, so when he started driving again, nothing had changed except the atmosphere in the car. 

“I said you could drop me off,” Shinwon whispered. “It’s fine. The road isn’t as muddy here.”

“Yes, but it’s still raining. And the wind is bad.”

“It’s alright.”

“It’s not,” Hwitaek burst out, and then sighed. “It’s not. Not just the weather. I don’t even know why you’re the one apologizing. It should be me. You did nothing but protect me and help me that night, and I treated you like trash.”

“You were giving me hints all night that you weren’t happy, but I was too busy talking. That’s not protecting you; that’s taking advantage. Plus, you were even paying me to do it.”

“Your job wasn’t to help me through my existential crisis. It was just to make me look good, which you did perfectly.”

“Maybe so, but it still didn’t feel right. I…” Shinwon looked down at his hands, which were still red from being stuck in the cold outside. “I thought you wouldn’t want to see me again.”

“So did I,” said Hwitaek. “But things happen, and thoughts...change. I liked your company. It wasn’t fair of me to pretend like it was just some kind of money exchange. I just wanted you to know that.”

“Oh,” said Shinwon. Then in a quieter voice, he added, “Your company was nice too. When you weren’t being nervous or angry, I guess.” That smile that Hwitaek remembered was back, peeking out from under Shinwon’s loosened hoodie. It emboldened him just a little.

“So, I wasn’t pleasant at all,” he said with a small laugh. Shinwon’s face paled, and Hwitaek continued quickly, “That was a joke. I was an absolute jerk, and we can laugh about it. Consider this me making up. Where shall I take you?”

Shinwon glanced at Hwitaek’s phone, which was _still_ rerouting, and then at the muddy road up ahead. The line that separated it from the smooth asphalt of the paved intersection was nearing fast. Better service would surely follow.

“You were heading home, huh?”

Hwitaek nodded. “Yeah.”

“Mine’s the same way. I’ll tell you when we’re closer.”

\-- 

Shinwon could do no such thing, it turned out, because it wasn’t long at all before he fell asleep curled against the door with his head leaning on the seatbelt. 

Hwitaek had said his name offhandedly, asking for the right exit, and then glanced to the side to find his companion’s head lolling to the side. His hood had fallen, revealing his bare face and messy, still-damp hair. One side was wetter than the other, giving him a childish, lopsided look. His cheeks seemed rounder, too, in sleep, and Hwitaek couldn’t help but notice that he had a few zits here and there, on the bottom of his chin and next to his nose. 

He was still, without a doubt, the most beautiful man Hwitaek had ever seen. In fact, somehow, seeing him without the makeup and the green suit and done-up hair made the moment even more surreal, like Hwitaek had witnessed a god turned human. 

He tried very hard to tear his eyes away so as not to crash the car, and was very proud of himself when he took the right exit back to his apartment. He couldn’t bring himself to wake Shinwon in his current state, especially after dragging his bike through a storm for who-knew-how-long. He deserved the rest. 

Hwitaek turned down the radio and drove in near-silence until he slipped into his parking spot, killed the engine, and waited. Some part of him had hoped that the stillness of the parked car would startle Shinwon awake, but the man was sleeping as soundly as ever, long lashes dusting his cheeks like the tiniest paintbrushes. Hwitaek reached out, hesitated, reached out again, and then breathed a loud sigh through his nose. He still couldn’t do it. He got out of the car and went to the back, getting to work pulling Shinwon’s bike out and cleaning it up with an old sponge from his toolbox and the landlord’s public sink next to the laundry room. 

When he finished, he checked the passenger seat, where Shinwon was still asleep. His clothes had left a puddle on the seat and the floor. Hwitaek stood there for a minute, debating with himself, and then gave up and went upstairs. He came back down with a large winter blanket from his closet and, as gently as he could, wrapped Shinwon in it and eased him out of the car. 

“Mmmmph,” said Shinwon helpfully, leaning into Hwitaek’s shoulder and nearly sending both of them toppling. “Warm.”

“It’ll be warmer indoors,” Hwitaek promised, grunting as he slipped one of Shinwon’s protesting arms out from under the blanket and slung it over his shoulder. “Hold on. There are stairs.”

“Stairs?” Shinwon’s eyes were open now, and he blinked at his surroundings before seeming to realize that something was off. “Hey, this isn’t...”

“It’s just for now,” Hwitaek told him, and Shinwon’s eyes widened. He looked down at the blanket around his shoulders and squinted as if it was a foreign object. Which in some ways it was. 

“What...”

“It’s fine,” Hwitaek said hurriedly. “I’ll bring you home as soon as you’re warm, but right now you need some new clothes. And a hot drink, or something. To wake you up.”

“Are you my mom?” Shinwon murmured. 

“No, but I’m sure she would thank me right now.”

“Mmph. Okay.” 

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

Shinwon’s eyes were closing again. Some part of Hwitaek guessed, his heart sinking, that the man probably thought he was dreaming. He tightened his grip on Shinwon’s shoulders and adjusted his weight so that Shinwon could navigate the stairs. He didn’t, really, and Hwitaek ended up dragging him most of the way up and then leading him in slow steps all the way to his apartment door. Once they were inside, Hwitaek deposited him on the couch and busied himself with making some tea so he didn’t have to think about what was happening. 

Shinwon, on the other hand, promptly passed out again, sprawled half on the couch and half off it. The blanket barely covered him. When Hwitaek finished the tea, he realized that he still didn’t have the heart to wake him, so he put some extra sugar in the tea and put it in the fridge for a cold sip later. He then knelt beside Shinwon and pulled the blanket back over him, tucking it under his chin. 

He rubbed his temples, his mind buzzing. It took a moment before he realized that the sound wasn’t in his head. He shot to attention, searching, lifting Shinwon’s blanket with two fingers, trying to be discreet. Shinwon’s phone, still vibrating, fell out of his pocket and onto the couch. Hwitaek grabbed it. 

Mom: Calling…

Hwitaek stared at it. What was he supposed to do? If he picked up, his voice would be a stranger’s. He could terrify her. But if he let it ring, Shinwon’s mother would surely worry that he’d gotten caught up in a rainstorm with nothing but his bike. She might send people to look for him, and how were they supposed to know that he was close by, just asleep in a nearby producer’s apartment?

Mom: Calling…

Hwitaek picked up. 

“Shinwon-ah—”

“Ajummoni, this isn’t Shinwon,” he said, formal as possible. “I’m Lee Hwitaek, Shinwon’s...friend. From work. We met the other night. I found him in the rainstorm and brought him to my place.”

“Oh!” The gasp of surprise was so familiar to Hwitaek it almost made him cry; it reminded him of his own mother, who would have nearly lost her mind had they traded places. “Hwitaek-ie. Shinwon mentioned you. The producer of that tss-tss song on the radio?” She hummed a little bit of his song and Hwitaek had to fight the urge to laugh. It was such a mother thing to ask. 

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Shinwon spoke so highly of you. He really likes that song.”

Hwitaek blinked. “Does he?”

“Hm,” said Shinwon’s mother suddenly. Her voice turned a little cold. “He did mention that you didn’t seem to like him. But that isn’t true, is it? If he’s at your place, if you brought him there?”

“...no, it’s not.” Hwitaek’s voice was soft. “He was very kind to me. If he thought that I disliked him, the fault is entirely mine. I’ll bring him back to you as soon as he’s awake, I promise.”

“Oh, no.” Shinwon’s mother’s response was immediate; she was back to cheery again. “It’s almost midnight. I was calling Shinwon to tell him that if he didn’t get back soon, he should just book a room near his morning job. Never mind the price. Such a far bike ride, and in the rain—he would never make it back! Nights are dangerous, no. No. Don’t go out now. You don’t mind keeping him there at your place until tomorrow, do you?”

Hwitaek’s heart flipped. “No, I don’t mind. I’ll take care of him.”

“Thank you, Hwitaek-ie. You’re too kind. Just bring him tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.”

Hwitaek stared at the phone screen for far longer than he intended. Shinwon’s lockscreen was a picture of him and an older woman he assumed was his mother; she had the same hairstyle as Hwitaek’s mother, the same crinkled eyes, the same arm hooked around her son’s like he was the pride of her life. 

When he looked back at Shinwon sleeping next to him, Hwitaek didn’t see a god. He saw a mother’s child caught up in matters bigger than he was, just trying to measure up. He wanted to run his hands through his hair, keep him safe, know him, _love_ him…but all he did was slip Shinwon’s phone back into his pocket and lean back on the couch. 

_Fuck._

\--

Hwitaek was in it for the music. He sat in his bedroom with the small, cheap keyboard he kept for when he was suddenly inspired at home. There was only one place to plug it in, though, and thus he was sitting at the foot of his bed, cross-legged and playing quiet, muffled chords when the door slid open. 

He looked up to see Ko Shinwon standing in the doorway, carrying his folded blanket, expression sheepish. He seemed to have flattened his puffy air-dried hair with his hand, but it was rebelling against him and rising like bread. 

“Aren’t you tired?” he asked, his voice rough with sleep, and Hwitaek was suddenly overtaken with the urge to jump up and kiss him. The feeling shocked him so much it took him a second to stifle it, but he managed. 

“It’s alright. I’m most creative at night.” 

“Songs?”

“Yeah, I…” Hwitaek paused, and then realized there was no point. “You must have seen it. Your mom called.”

“Yeah.”

“She told me you liked my song. The viral one.” 

Shinwon reddened. “What else did she tell you?”

“That was it. Just that you told her about me, and that you liked the song.” Hwitaek played with the cord that connected his keyboard to the wall, trying to distract himself. The artificial light from his room was painting Shinwon golden like a mirage. “Is that why you took the job from Hyunggu?”

“N-no,” Shinwon stammered. “No. I was—it was. It was after. I looked up the song after the party.”

“You...looked up my song? You didn’t know it? You didn’t know _me_?”

Shinwon’s ears were bright red. “I don’t listen to that much music, except like. English alternative. Rock. That kind of stuff.”

“Oh. Thank you, then,” Hwitaek managed. His mind drifted back to how he’d always thought everyone loved his song, but not...him. “I’ve just never spoken to someone who liked the song organically...someone who isn’t a producer or one of my friends at the company. Or my mom. I’m glad.”

“That’s good,” Shinwon said, his voice small. He added, “The reason I took the job is that...I mean. Not much reason. I take most jobs, as long as they pay. It’s to help my family.”

“For your mom?”

Shinwon shook his head. “No, my dad. Well, I mean, my mom is part of it. But my dad has Alzheimer’s, so he’s got to stay in the nursing home. We pay his in-home fees. My mom isn’t as mobile as she was, and we sold our car so we could get him in there. Things got better when I got old enough to start working. I’m not usually picky with it, but...” He smiled a little bashfully. “Yours was one of my best ones.” 

“Ah,” said Hwitaek softly. “Good that I cleaned your bike, then.”

“You cleaned my bike?”

“Yeah.” He finally took his hands off of his keyboard and wrapped them around himself. He was such a fool. “And I’m sorry. Really sorry. For everything. You must think I’m so self-centered.”

“What?”

“Here I was thinking that you were some sort of beautiful god on earth, better than me at everything, come to show me that I don’t belong in this damned place, while you were just living your life and being a good person. I’m...shit. I’m sorry.”

“When did…” Shinwon spluttered. “When did you think that?”

“Since the first day I met you.”

“You...think I’m beautiful?”

Hwitaek laughed. When Shinwon just stared at him, though, he sobered. “You’re serious?”

“ _You’re_ serious?”

“Have you looked in a mirror lately?!”

“You found me in a _rainstorm_.”

“And I couldn’t look at you in my own damned car because if I did for too long I would have crashed it,” snapped Hwitaek, throwing up his hands. “I’ve been trying to figure out how I feel about my ex for years, and then as soon as I met you she was just a friend. I’d see a nice tree and think it looked like your suit, spot some jewelry in a store and think it’d look nice on your hand, look at your number and try to call you and not be able to do it because _I’m a coward._ ” 

“Hyung.”

“The whole time we were at that party I kept looking at you and watching you talk to these people that I couldn’t speak to for my entire life and thinking, my god, this is how it’s supposed to be and I...I thought I was angry. And I was, but it wasn’t because...I wasn’t...I was…” Hwitaek balled his hands into fists, trying to figure out a delicate way to say it. 

“Hwitaek-hyung.”

“I was just...feeling things...about…”

“Hwitaek-hyung, can I kiss you?”

“And I— _what?_ ”

Shinwon’s eyes were bright, almost liquid amber. “Can I kiss you?”

Hwitaek was exhausted and on top of the world and mortified all at the same time. “What—and of course you would ask—”

Before he was even done speaking, Shinwon was no longer in the doorway. Hwitaek processed the moment in snapshots: a shock of warmth at his shoulders as Shinwon pushed him against the wall, knees bumping, the folded blanket hitting the bed behind them, and then his lips, _his lips_ . Hwitaek distantly thought he was on fire, but that didn’t make sense because there were tongues involved—a wet, furious tangling that made Hwitaek’s head spin. He couldn’t think. He was tired of thinking. He pulled Shinwon against him as hard as he could, almost as if he might swallow him, hands slipping under Shinwon’s shirt. He pressed against the firm muscles of his back and then drifted downwards, drawing their hips together, just wanting to be _close_. 

But Shinwon slipped away. He made a soft noise against Hwitaek’s lips and then drew back. 

“Hyung.”

“ _Shinwon_ ,” Hwitaek whispered, breathless. He didn’t care that he sounded wrecked. He was. He had never been in love. He knew this now, with certainty. Not before this. 

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

“I could ask the same of you,” Hwitaek replied, low. His heart was still racing, but he forced the words out slow. “I do. But I’m the one who slighted you. You’re the one who has every right to want to stop. You…”

Shinwon’s eyes were shining again. The light peck he gave Hwitaek’s lips was nothing like what they had just shared, but it somehow made Hwitaek want more. 

“That’s all I wanted. You said you have an ex. Does this place have what we’ll need?”

\--

That morning, Shinwon called his mother while they were still half-covered, legs resting against one another. 

“I’m not coming home, at least not yet.”

“You better not be,” Shinwon’s mother responded, a satisfied smirk in her voice. Shinwon colored wonderfully, and Hwitaek laughed into his pillow. 

He’d stayed in bed when Shinwon had gone off to the kitchen, already acting as if the place were his. Hwitaek idly pressed his fingers to his wrist, feeling for his pulse, wondering if his heartbeat would sound any different now that his heart felt so full. He couldn’t tell, but it didn’t matter. He flipped onto his back to check his phone ( _heard you got him_ , said Hyunggu’s message and _IDIOT_ , plus a smiley, said Shuhua. Soojin had texted him a single heart). Chuckling to himself, he grabbed a robe for cover, and headed out of the bedroom. 

He was about to cross the hallway to the kitchen, but paused. Shinwon had made himself breakfast. He was sitting there at the same chair he’d sat at for the first time in Hwitaek’s apartment, except this time instead of a cup of water he had a full plate of scrambled eggs and a cup of ice tea. He wasn’t eating, though. Instead, he was humming a song that Hwitaek quickly recognized as his own, a key down but still accurate. Across from him, a matching set of eggs and tea had been placed. 

Hwitaek couldn’t stifle his small gasp, and Shinwon looked up from where he had been scrolling on his phone and grinned. 

“I made you food. Aren’t you going to come and enjoy it?”

“I’m the luckiest man alive,” Hwitaek said as he left the doorway. He had never meant anything more. _This_ was peace. He couldn’t get the sound of his song in Shinwon’s voice out of his ears, and doubted he ever would. 


End file.
